Death of an Angel
by Lestat's Violinist
Summary: Sam thought about it… Thought about it more than once. Had it all planned out, too. Now with Dean's POV!
1. Mad World

**A/N:** _I'm sorry for the depressing story but there's so many Suicidal!Sam stories out there and the vast majority of them suck because they aren't realistic enough. Blame the bad writers. Honestly, if anyone reacted the way some Sam's do in those stories our boys would be gone waaaaaay before now. So, I hope that you find this one to be realistic within the _Supernatural_ boundaries. (The song lyrics that are spaced out throughout the story is "Mad World" by Gary Jules._

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own _Supernatural_. Nor do I own "Mad World". Never have, never will._

**Warnings:** _Suicidal themes, blood, gore, character death, some coarse language._

* * *

><p><em>All around me are familiar faces,<br>Worn out places,  
>Worn out faces…<em>

Sam thought about it… Thought about it more than once. Had it all planned out, too. He was gonna do it with Dean's .45 in their motel room when John and Dean were out on a hunt. He made sure that even if he _did_ miss that there'd be no one to save him from bleeding out if he couldn't get off a second shot. But then Dean just _had _stay home and buy him a pizza and have an awesome big brother moment and remind him why it was a good thing to be alive.

Dammit. Of course, Dean didn't _know_ he'd saved Sam's life. Hell, Sam was still pretty sure that Dean would lock him in the Bobby's panic room if he ever found out Sam was thinking these types of things. Sam was thirty-one now. Dean was thirty-five. They were older, figuring out that they couldn't retire- couldn't have That Life anymore. Ever.

_Bright and early for the daily races,  
>Going nowhere,<br>Going nowhere…_

Sam was just so tired. Tired of it all. He could barely find it in himself to care about the people getting slaughtered by monsters, about the worried glances Dean gave him, all he could feel was the swirling mass of navy blue that had invaded his body and made his movements sluggish.

He wished he could just grow a pair of balls and pull that fucking trigger. Sam knew it was only a matter of time until he did. He figured it would be less than a week before he was six feet under. Sam began making preparations.

First, he would try to fix that gap between he and Dean. Sam started asking Dean to teach him things he didn't really care about. He even convinced himself that he was doing a good job of pretending to be enthusiastic and interested.

_Tears are filling up their glasses,  
>No expression,<br>No expression…_

"I love you." Sam had blurted out, desperately wanting Dean to know that he really, really did love his brother. Sam wasn't going to die because he didn't want to be Dean's family anymore. Dean frowned and pursed his lips.

"Yeah, I know, Sammy. You okay?" He asked, resting a hand on Sam's broad shoulders. Sam just nodded and smiled up at his brother. Dean knew, so it would be okay. It would all be okay. When Dean felt reassured he clapped Sam on the back and grinned, "Love you too, little brother." Dean said as he left Sam's room.

Bobby had given them the house when he died in a hunt for a werewolf. Sam knew Dean still mourned their surrogate father's death but Sam… didn't. He was just too sad about everything to only mourn Bobby's passing.

_Hide my head,  
>I wanna drown my sorrow,<br>No tomorrow,  
>No tomorrow…<em>

Sam decided Dean understand that Sam loved him wasn't good enough. He wanted to explain why he had to do this. Why he had to leave. So Sam bought a black leather bound journal and began to write. He started from the beginning. Started from the first time he wondered how fast he could bleed out through slashes in his wrists.

Sam didn't want to scare Dean. No, he never wanted to scare Dean, so he kept that journal hidden. Made sure that Dean wouldn't find it unless Sam wanted him to. _Three days left_, Sam kept thinking as he wrote in that journal.

_And I find it kinda funny,  
>I find it kinda sad,<br>The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had,  
>I find it hard to tell you,<br>I find it hard to take,  
>When people run in circles it's a very,<br>Very,  
>Mad world,<br>Mad world…_

Sam sharpened his knife. He wasn't going to use it but it seemed like a good back-up plan. He knew how bad it hurt to have your wrists slashed. When the Ghouls had done it to him he felt angry. He was furious that they were trying to take him out in the way he'd originally chosen.

Now that out was tainted and he couldn't use it. That didn't mean he couldn't let the blade bite into his flesh on occasion- it just meant that he was going to die by a bullet to the brain. Sam struggled to ground himself. It wasn't working.

_Children waiting for the day they feel good,  
>Happy birthday,<br>Happy birthday,  
>And I feel the way that every child should,<br>Sit and listen,  
>Sit and listen…<em>

Sam thought it was the ocean of roaring, blinding, beautiful white that constantly changes to the solid, too-thick to breathe, navy blue was what sent him over the edge. He really didn't know, but, what he _did_ know was that he'd prefer the silky white or the sugarless sorbet-blue to the mute, emotionless grey that's called 'normal'.

He was waiting for midnight. It only seemed right. If he was going to Hell for suicide he was gonna go at the right time. He'd made a deal with himself a long time ago and now he had to hold up the last part of it.

_Went to school and I was very nervous,  
>No one knew me,<br>No one knew me,  
><em>

The clock was ticking. Less than an hour now. Dean was sleeping in his bed twenty feet away in his own room. It was good that he wasn't there because he'd probably stop Sam again. Sam grabbed the black journal and opened it to the last page. He'd filled it up almost entirely- except for that last page.

He held his jell pen close the paper, not quite letting the metal touch the paper but close enough that if he moved a millimeter he would. How do you say the final goodbye? How do you tell someone that's died for you and that you've died for goodbye?

_Hello teacher tell me,_  
><em>What's my lesson?<em>  
><em>Look right through me,<em>  
><em>Look right through me…<em>

Sam just shook his head and put the journal and pen down while he thought. How do I say goodbye? To Dean? To everyone? Sam felt his eyes get hot and sting with the promise of tears. It'll be over soon, said the voice in his head. Sam blinked and saw the little mutant cat thing lounging on his bed frame.

"Ready, Sam?" It purred, rubbing its body against his legs. Sam pet the creature and nodded, just as the clock struck midnight. He scrawled a quick note on the last page on the journal and grabbed his gun, "Twice, remember that Sam." It purred, eyes flashing green.

"I remember." Sam whispered, loading each bullet into the clip carefully. He slumped against the side of his bed. He snapped the clip into place and pressed the barrel against his temple. Sam winced at the ice cold metal and squeezed his eyes shut. A smile spread across his lips.

_And I find it kinda funny,  
>I find it kinda sad,<br>The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had,_

Sam pulled the trigger, sending the bullet out of the barrel and into the soft tissue of his brain. Blood spattered against the bed and the white wall. Red smeared over everything as Sam's body slumped forward with a dull 'thump'.

_I find it hard to tell you,  
>I find it hard to take,<br>When people run in circles it's a very,  
>Very,<br>_

The gunshot echoing throughout the old house was the last thing Sam ever heard.

_Mad world,_  
><em>Mad world…<em>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Okay, so I was in a depresseddepressing mood.**_  
><em><strong>Sue me.<strong>_  
><em><strong>Actually, don't.<strong>_  
><em><strong>That would suuck!<br>Tell me what you think though, kay?  
>Even if it's, "THIS SUCKS! I HATE YOU FOR KILLING SAM!"<strong>_


	2. Never Too Late

**A/N:** _This next chapter is thanks to _AliceAddams13_because she asked how Dean was gonna react. If you don't like the ending it's all her fault. Go assault her with your hate mail. Just kidding, assault me with it, I don't think any less of you people for doing so. Anywho, I hope you like this. There wasn't really any specific way I wanted this to end so I just let my brain create and this is what it gave me. The song is "Never Too Late" by Three Days Grace._

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own _Supernatural_. Nor do I own "Never Too Late". Never have, never will._

**Warnings:** _Suicidal themes, blood, gore, character death, and a lot of coarse language. Mostly F Bombs._

* * *

><p><em>This world will never be what I expected,<br>And if I don't belong who would have guessed it,  
>I will not leave alone everything that I own,<br>To make you feel like it's not too late, it's never too late…_

Dean had his hand on Sam's bedroom doorknob when he heard the shots. Don't ask him how he knew, he just did. It was a fuckin' brother thing, alright? Two, rapid fire, heartbreakingly loud shots stopped his heart cold. Dean knew what he'd find before his numb body pushed him through the door, "I don't wanna see." He whispered to the invisible force nudging him onward.

"God, don't _make me see_." He pleaded, not even a millisecond before his emerald eyes landed on his baby brother all soaked in blood. Dean choked out a sob and shook his head, "_No, no, no,_ _God, no!"_ He cried out, falling to his knees. Hot tears stung at his eyes, blurring his vision so he could barely see, but that didn't matter.

_Even if I say it'll be alright  
>Still I hear you say you want to end your life<br>Now and again we try to just stay alive  
>Maybe we'll turn it around 'cause it's not too late<br>It's never too late…_

He knew he would never forget that last image he'd had of his brother. Sam was hunched over himself, his head twisted at an unnatural angle, with his hazel eyes glazed over. Dean blinked rapidly, willing himself to un-see this shit. But… when he opened his eyes all he saw was Sam. Dead, "_Sammy_." Dean sobbed, trying to make his muscles move him towards Sam.

"Sammy, man?" Dean couldn't believe this. Sam had been _happy_ today. He'd been talking and laughing. What the _fuck?_ He hadn't been moody or pouting or spacing at all. He'd been focused, attentive, and… _**God dammit**_! Why hadn't Dean seen this coming? Why couldn't he have seen the signs?

_No one will ever see this side reflected  
>And if there's something wrong who would have guessed it?<br>And I have left alone everything that I own  
>To make you feel like it's not too late, it's never too late…<em>

Thinking back through the past week Dean knew that the signs were there. The sudden happiness, the interest in fixing up the Impala, letting Dean get away with flirting with the teenage waitress both of them knew was _way_ off limits.

All of that plus the fact that Dean had heard Sam say that he wanted out. He just thought it was that craving for Jessica and That Life. It wasn't. Sam was saying he wanted out of This Life. Dean understood the need for both but _dying_, Sammy?

_Even if I say it'll be alright  
>Still I hear you say you want to end your life<br>Now and again we try to just stay alive_  
><em>Maybe we'll turn it around 'cause it's not too late<em>  
><em>It's never too late…<em>

"_What the fuck good is that!"_ Dean screamed, punching his fist through the dry wall, not even registering the small twinge of pain. Rage replaced his blood and all he could think of was how selfish Sam was, "_How the hell could you do this!"_ Dean screamed at Sam's corpse.

"How the _fuck_ could _this_-" He shook the gun in the dead man's face, "make _anything_ better!" Dean felt like kicking Sam but his mama taught him better than that. So he glowered at his little brother for a few hours while he gathered the courage to start cleaning up _another_ one of Sam's messes.

_The world we knew won't come back,  
>The time we've lost can't get back,<br>The life we had won't be ours again,  
>This world will never be what I expected,<br>And if I don't belong…_

Dean refused to cry so he held onto that anger inside of him like it was God Himself and He was the only one who could save Cas from the other angels. Dealing with emotional stuff wasn't ever Dean's strong point and now that no one was around to _make_ him deal… well let's just say it was fuckin' _over_.

Dean stood on shaky legs, wiped his face clean of tears, and put any and all emotions behind a wall inside him. He had work to do. He let out a heavy breath as he gathered the cleaning supplies and made his way back to S- that one room. He cleaned like there wasn't a body next to him. Dean didn't feel anything if he didn't think too hard.

_Even if I say it'll be alright  
>Still I hear you say you want to end your life<br>Now and again we try to just stay alive  
>Maybe we'll turn it around 'cause it's not too late<br>It's never too late…_

How many times did he have to lose… that one thing? Three times now, dammit. _No more,_ Dean thought, _I'm gonna cremate-_ _it_. He couldn't even think Sam's name. Not yet. It was too soon. Too fresh. After several hours of scraping mostly dried blood from the hardwood floors and bleaching the wood until they were white Dean decided to work on The Body.

He didn't even bother changing Sam's clothes. He just dragged him out back, built a shit-tastic pier, and laid Sam on top of it. _Stay angry,_ he thought over and over again as he drenched Sam in kerosene, _gotta stay angry_.

Sam was surprisingly flammable. He caught easily and burned just as fast. Though, Dean's sense of time was a little bit messed up because he was _cremating his fucking brother_! Honestly, what did you expect to hear? That Dean sobbed while his brother's flesh sizzled? That he begged the fire to take him too? That he managed to pull himself together once Lisa stopped by on a whim and lived happily ever after?

_Maybe we'll turn it around 'cause it's not too late  
>It's never too late<br>It's not too late, it's never too late…_

Well, you're wrong. This is a Winchester we're talking about and Winchester's never get to have That Life. Dean never saw the ending of the fire. He never saw that Sam's ghost was watching the blaze in morbid fascination. He simply held the gun- the very one Sam had used- to his temple and pulled the trigger twice. Two, rapid fire, heartbreakingly loud shots stopped his heart cold.

* * *

><p><strong><em><span>Hey... Did- did you notice something?<span>_**  
><strong><em><span>Go back and read the fourth line in (not including the song lyrics) and then read the very last sentence.<span>_**  
><strong><em><span>Notice anything?<span>_**  
><strong><em><span>I might have an obsession with the number two.<span>_**


End file.
